Curiosity Burned the Turtle
by antiHEROine82
Summary: Michelangelo and Raphael learn about hair care products-- the painful way.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: **__This was intended to be a oneshot but due to my obsession with details and because this is introducing my OC, it didn't work out. So it's more like a three or four shot… in other words, three or four chappies. The way I plan to write and base my story is complicated and will most likely confuse many, if not all, who read. And many, if not all, may not like what I plan to do. If that's that case, then please just don't read. Why waste my time and yours'? _

_To get a better understanding of what my crazy mind plans to do, take a gander at my profile and scroll down for a better description. There is some swearing and a bit of sexual reference in this but in my main story and others, __anything__ will go. So this is might be as mild as it'll get._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own TMNT, Splinter, Casey or any of the other ones that you know and recognize. They came from the minds' of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird (Thank you, boys!). I _**do **_own Traci Taber and the other characters you don't know and recognize. That being said, I can't be sued… right?_

* * *

It was going on 2:30. Perfect.

Plugging in her curling iron, Traci wondered how the hell she managed to have enough time to leave her condo for work without rushing for a change. Even though the station didn't need her there until about 3:30 in the afternoon and it was only two train stops away, she somehow always ended up leaving at the very last minute. It was a fitting schedule for the young reporter, who was a late sleeper due to her even later nights. She had always been a night owl and always had trouble sleeping. But now that her four ninja friends and their rat father had been staying with her at her new place for the past few weeks, it helped cease some of the anxiety that prevented her from falling asleep. Knowing they were in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall was a comfort to her.

Of course, it wasn't easy sharing space with five males (human or not), four of which were teenagers. She couldn't do certain things that she had done before they began rooming with her. One of the hardest sacrifices had been being able to sleep without the aid of clothes. She hated having to twist and turn in confining fabric, and missed dearly being able to move freely between the sheets.

It was just a precaution; Lord forbid the Foot ever actually somehow found her new place and they had to make a quick break for it. Or if she accidentally forgot to shut her bedroom door... not very likely, but it _could _happen. Or if Raph came back from one of his late night excursions injured in a way he himself couldn't attend to-- he wouldn't be able to go to Donny without waking Leo as well since they all shared the same room. She could see it now: a lecture, yelling from both parties, a push, a shove, and then finally the total abandonment of verbal arguing replaced by physical action.

So now clothes were a must. It wasn't only _sleeping_ with clothes on that had become difficult, however...

Traci loved to walk around her place in just skin. She had done it since she first started living alone. The guys could be gone for hours on end, sometimes calling before coming home from their nightly patrols to ask if they could pick anything up, so it wasn't like she didn't have a heads up. And Splinter was constantly in his own private spare room with the door closed, either meditating or reading or… whatever he did.

But what if one day she dared to be bold by prancing around her hallway or wherever, and with those amazing ninja skills they just snuck up on her as they sometimes tended to do. Mikey, especially, who knew she was an easy scare due to their shared love of horror movies.

"Hey, Trace… ?", came the unmistakable voice of said turtle outside of her bedroom. As usual he seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, just like that.

Nope, couldn't risk being bold.

The young woman, who was in her bathroom turned, but couldn't see the turtle from where she was. Putting her hairbrush down, she poked her head out and saw him standing awkwardly outside of her bedroom door frame. Neither he nor his brothers ever dared step in, door closed or not. Not until she gave them permission. She was surprised at how they respected her privacy. Splinter taught them well. That, or maybe it was their own fear of being in the one room that was all hers'. She didn't know, but it was endearing to her.

Smiling to herself when she saw him, she waved him in.

"Come in, Mikey".

After receiving her blessing, he trudged through the bedroom towards the bathroom door as she started to seperate her long, side-swept bangs from the rest of her hair.

As soon as he saw her, he'd forgotten why he was there in the first place and began to admire her in wonder. He had seen her get ready for work or a night out only a few times before, but it never ceased to astound him: how the brush would glide through her soft, satiny hair. How she would pout her lips while putting that pink-colored tipped stick on them-- _gloss_, she had told him. How she would jut out her wrists and spray that sweet but strong smelling liquid on her, rubbing them together and dabbing each briefly on the sides of her neck.

It was done so casually, so _innocently_, but to Mikey it was as if he were witnessing the most incredible thing in the world. Traci looked away from herself to her right through the mirror at Michelangelo, who had been standing dumbly next to her.

"What's on your mind, Mike?", she abruptly asked his reflection.

_You really wanna know?_, his mind silently queried her with shame.

Shaking himself out of it, he managed to avert his eyes away from the petite girl to his fingers, which he now played with nervously.

_Fingers_. Now he remembered. He held one of his three green digits up to her.

"Splinter", he pouted, "And I don't mean the 'Sensei' kind".

She smirked at the simple joke and took his finger in her own small hand, examining it.

"From what?"

"Donny's bo", he muttered, "We had a switched weapons lesson, and my hand slipped where there wasn't any cloth. Stupid stick".

She glanced up and gave him a stern, yet amused look that needed no words.

Had Donny been in the room and heard him, Mikey would've been nursing a sore head along with the slither of wood in his skin. Calling his weapon a 'stick' as opposed to a staff usually earned Mikey a firm tap on the back of his dome from the wooden pike, courtesy of its' owner. After that, Mikey's underestimation of his purple clad sibling's defense tool would diminish, if only for the time being. Traci seemed to know the routine more than Mike did, and was trying to get him out of the habit of verbal assaulting Donny's bo so he wouldn't end up with brain damage.

The orange-tailed turtle rolled his eyes, a silent way to show he clearly understood what her look meant and that she didn't have to warn him any further. She focused her attention back to the hide of his finger, scraping it lightly as he cringed.

"Damn, it's in there really deep", she stated and proceeded to squeeze the area with her own fingertips, being sure her long nails didn't poke him. Michelangelo hissed and jumped back a bit, instinctively pulling his hand away.

Keeping a firm hold but startled by his reaction, her gaze snapped back to him and the look on his face almost broke her heart. He had an expression of shock that implored, "Why'd you do that?", but it was only a fleeting grimace. He knew she didn't mean to hurt him, but his surprise from the unexpected pain she had caused gave him no control over his facial expressions at that moment. And Mikey wasn't one who knew how to hide his emotions, anyway, no matter how momentary they were.

Traci frowned, almost mirroring his look and, in her own way, also hurt. It was amazing how much he could look like a child at times.

"Oh, Mikey! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to press so hard!"

As soon as Mike saw how badly she felt, he relaxed and tried to act as if it were nothing. "It's okay, babe, really".

"Did I hurt you?", she asked, though they both knew the answer to that.

"No, Trace. It's okay", he lied, "It's just a little sore, and I guess you hit a tender spot." His big blue eyes gazed at her reassuringly, and he gave her a small smile.

Guilt slowly fading, she accepted his explanation and nodded. Her focus back down, she concluded, "We're gonna need a needle".

Mike tensed again. Up on the roof, Don had said the same after briefly examining it himself, but Mikey had refused to believe him. He remembered Raph calling after him as he was making his way down the fire escape towards the window; something about his shell being soft enough to be a pin cushion, followed by the reptile in red's wild cackling at his little brother's misery. He had a quick image of the first part and shivered. Traci noticed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't want it to get infected, do ya?"

The youngest turtle puffed out a breath of air and hesitantly shook his head. The young woman bobbed her own head up and down sympathetically, knowing how much he was going to hate this.

"Okay", she said softly. The tone she used was the same one she spoke in when her one and a half year old nephew had to be coaxed into doing something he didn't want to. "I'll go get one in the sewing kit", she told him, gently guiding him over to the toilet and sitting him down on the seat cover, "Don't try to push it out yourself, or it might go in deeper".

Mikey nodded, fear evident in his eyes and a worried look on his face. Traci bit her bottom lip, wanting to get her camera and snap a picture of how adorable the sight before her was. Yet at the same time, it was crushing to see him so scared.

Giving him an encouraging smile, she walked out of the bathroom, through her room and down the hall to one of the spare rooms where she kept the sewing kit.

Watching her leave, he sat there holding his sore finger, silently cursing Donny and his staf-- stick. HA!

Don may be a smarty, but one of the few things he _couldn't_ do was read minds.

_Stick, stick, stick! Ugly stick that could break over my knee... well, if I tried hard enough! Long, skinny log that couldn't build a dam if you had a million of 'em! Lightweight, hollow piece of tree that couldn't even be used as firewood! _

Mikey grinned and continued amusing himself with his quiet attack of words on Don's weapon, when his short attention span took note of a certain object lying on top of the granite sink.

The object was a thick, gold, round rod with a black plastic end that had a cord coming out of it. The cord was plugged into the socket closest to him with the rod a little more than an arm's length away. His brow furrowed in curiosity, one of the traits which he was best known for and usually tended to get the young turtle into trouble. Getting halfway up off his seat, he peeked to see if Traci was indeed out of the room.

The coast was clear...


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: _Conair_ and its' product(s) were not responsible for the injury the turtle in this story sustained. It was his own fault!_

* * *

Practically pouncing to his feet, Mikey picked the gadget up by the plastic end and studied it. Upon seeing it up close, he noticed the tip of the gold part had the same black plastic on it as the area he was holding. The black part had two small lights on it and the word _Conair_ printed on it.

Why would a thing like this need a name? Was it like a pet rock or something? And why was it named after a crappy Nicholas Cage movie? What _was _this thing? It looked like a handheld, deformed spaceship. He knew Traci was fond of stuffed animals and still enjoyed kiddy movies, but to have actual toys? For the bath-tub, especially?

Maybe it was for her nephew... nah, this looked way too advanced for a kid as young as Macaulay. Donny'd probably love to get his geek-hands on it, though.

Maybe it was a lint brush. But how would the lint stick to the smooth gold part? No- it _had_ to be a cleaning appliance. Of course! Knowing Traci and the neat freak that she was, that's what it had to be.

How and what did it clean, though? The toilet? He scrunched his face up at the thought, but quickly dismissed it. It wouldn't have been that clean if that were the case. Unless she just bought it or something... Nah, probably not.

He noticed a slit on the gold part and realized it was part of a flap. Now he was wondering why it was there and how it opened. His eyes went to an area that was protruding upwards a bit and out of instinct, his thumb pressed down on it. The flap miraculously widened. Pride swelled within in him as he figured out how to open it all on his own.

Lost in his victory, his thumb suddenly let go. It snapped shut. He pressed down again. It opened. He let go. It shut.

No longer caring what its' actual purpose was, he did what he usually did when he didn't know something: he came to the conclusion it was whatever he wanted it to be.

Rapidly, he snapped the rod opened and closed. His other hand then joined in the game by making a flowing gesture that resembled a wave. The baton slowly tracked his hand from behind.

"Duh nuh…", Mikey hummed menacingly. His hand spun towards the wand, and its' stalking immediately ceased. As soon as his hand turned back around and began to move again, so did the rod.

"Duh nuh… Duh nuh…" The tune was sped up as the biting jaws picked up the pace of following his 'swimming' hand. "Duh nuh duh nuh duh nuh duh nuh-OOOOOOWWWWWWW!"

In the closet of the room where her reptile friends currently resided, Traci was in the process of digging out the sewing kit she had negligently stashed in the back after having not sewn since being a child. One of many hobbies she had taken up briefly as a kid and was soon forgotten about.

The sound of a high-pitched howl was suddenly heard, almost making her heart leap out of her throat. Immediately springing to her feet, she ran back towards her room to her bathroom where she had last left Michelangelo- only he wasn't in the position she had last left him.

Now he was hopping up and down on his feet hysterically with her curling iron clutching his finger, the pain too overwhelming for him to muster up the common sense to simply remove it. It would take more than a sterilized needle to fix the injury on_ that _hand.

The sight reminded her of bloopers they had watched earlier that week of an animal show gone bad. Michelangelo hadn't been able to stop giggling as he watched the poor 'expert' desperately try to shake the baby alligator off his index finger.

Karma was a bitch.

"Mikey, what the hell?!", she shouted above his yelps, trying to confirm to herself that what she was witnessing was indeed happening.

"Getitoff! Getitoff!", he pleaded, bouncing like a giant Mexican jumping bean.

"Stay still!", she commanded while rushing over to him. His jumping stopped, but his knees kicked up frantically as if he were jogging in place.

"Ow ow ow ow ow!" She took hold of the arm of his hand that was trapped and plucked the device off him. Mikey grasped his singed skin, blowing on it furiously as she reached over and ripped the cord out of its' socket. Turning back to him, a look of absolute bewilderment was fixed upon her usually sweet features.

"What-how…", she trailed off at a complete loss for words. He averted his attention from his burned finger to the concerned girl in front of him.

"That thing-ow!", he began pointing accusingly at the heated object, but quickly retreated his stinging digit. "That thing is dangerous! We told you to protect yourself, but geesh! That's a crazy weapon."

Perplexed, she just blinked at him before realizing that he didn't know what it was. Another thing she assumed he already knew about. How stupid of her, of course he didn't know what a curling iron was! Why the hell would he need to? Well, how about for a situation such as this?

Sighing, she shook her head at her own stupidity instead of Michelangelo's, blaming herself.

"Oh, Mikey…", she exasperatedly breathed out, putting a hand to her temple and shutting her green eyes briefly.

And so, after tending to his splintered and blistering fingers, the curling iron and its' proper use was taught to the baby of the brothers. She even demonstrated it for him and by the end of the lesson, he not only understood its' purpose, but now knew the secret of how her hair magically went from resembling straight lines to fat, swirled noodles. It had been the topic of discussion at times between him and his brothers, and now **he **knew how it was done! He couldn't _wait_ until the subject came up again, when he could grin knowingly and taunt them with his newly installed wisdom.

"So now you know this isn't a toy, right?", she quizzed him.

"Right!", Mikey chirped happily, as if the nasty injury had never even occurred, "Thanks, babe! I'll definitely remember it next time I-"

_Time. _Time! Shit! Traci jerked her wrist out and held it in front of her. Forty minutes had gone by since she last checked her watch. She still had about fifteen minutes to get to work.

Letting out a breath, she smirked in relief at Mike, who gave her a somewhat disappointed frown.

"Come on, Tabe-Babe", he said, sounding like he was offended as he used his nickname for her that derived from her last name, "You know I wouldn't let you be late. I was keeping a ninja eye on the time".

With the finger that had sustained the lesser amount of damage, he pointed directly above him at the digital clock on the cd player sitting on the shelf. She gave him an appreciative smile as she leaned down to hug him. He was such a sweet kid.

"Thanks, Mike".

A big grin split across his face as her arms went around him and he returned the embrace, milking it for all it was worth while breathing in her scent. As she pulled back, he decided to take advantage of the moment.

"If you ever need to know what time it is, I can tell you", he offered, encouraged by the physical contact they had just shared, "Even if you already know".

His tone was kidding, but as always he hoped there might be a possibility where she didn't think so and took him seriously. And as always, she gave him the same bashful giggle to show she was flattered by his boyish advances and lowered her head to the side shyly. It made her even more desirable, and he couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment.

"I'll make sure to ask you before anyone", she promised, half-laughing.

With a satisfied nod that betrayed his true feelings, he got up from the toilet seat and started for the door so she could continue getting ready. He suddenly stopped short, whirling back around to face her.

"Uh…", he started, but didn't need to finish because she did it for him.

"Tell 'em you forgot to put the mitts on and burned yourself baking", was her solution, gesturing to his bandaged hand. The corners of his beak curved up, and he yanked her into another hug.

"Total hottie _and_ a genius! The whole package!" She chuckled and pushed him away, patting his shell.

"You better hurry", she told him.

"For what? You're the one who has to get to work."

"So do you", she retorted, curling the last remaining strands of her hair. He blinked at her, lost for a second.

"Splinter excused me for the rest of practice", he explained without bothering to hide his pleasure from the fact. It was marvelous what a teeny sliver of wood with a dash of whining could do.

"Which doesn't last much longer, so you better get your green butt downstairs and start baking", she replied without missing a beat.

Mike's jaw dropped. "Why does my butt have to bake?"

"Well, they're gonna wanna know where the stuff you were baking is if you want them to buy it", she pointed out after unplugging the iron, this time for good, and making her way out of the bathroom.

He began following her helplessly around her room as she picked up her coat. Slipping on her pumps, she turned back to him, sensing his uncertainty, and knew exactly how to convince him.

"Unless, of course, you wanna tell them what actually happened".

_That I was attacked by a hair care product?_, he thought feebly. He could just imagine the torture he would endure. Particularly from Raph. Traci's excuse of careless baking seemed to be the best solution, and the most believable, since it had actually happened more than once before. This girl's quick wit never failed (not only that, she wanted to come home to something waiting to satisfy her sweet tooth after work).

Mike groaned. Though he usually loved to bake and did it often, he doubted it would be as much fun with a bum hand. He glanced at the clock again, and it indicated that practice would be ending soon.

Sighing, he asked miserably as they were about to exit her bedroom, "Cookies or brownies?"

"Whichever makes less of a mess", was her automatic answer.

* * *

_If some of you are wondering where Raph has been since I mentioned him in the summary, have no fear. I didn't lie. He's in the next chapter. If you'd like me to bother writing it, please express it to me through reviews. :hint hint:  
_


	3. Chapter 3

The condo was peaceful. The four teens were all preoccupied with their own thing, which explained the lack of shouting and shoves. For now, anyway. They had all finished a few satisfying rounds of sparring on the roof. A bit spent after their work-out, they were currently relaxing quietly with their father upstairs meditating in his private room.

Leo and Don were spread out on the semi-circle couch, both dominating the areas they sat in with their lazy positions; they were conversing over what to watch. Those two particuliar brothers weren't known to argue over the remote. That was usually Raph and Mike's department.

At the moment, Raph was too busy to care as he sat on one of the stools of the island in the kitchen, buffing his precious sai with a rag. It would keep him distracted for the time being. When he was done, he was likely to go over and bitch about whatever 'crap' they were watching. His brothers' taste in entertainment weren't always the same as his.

The youngest, who could be even worse than his red-masked sibling when it came to the tv, was doing one of the few things he thought was better than watching cartoons: cooking. For Traci, that is. His main goal was to show her he was not only thankful for everything she had done for him and his family, but to also prove he _had_ paid attention when she'd instructed him on how to make her traditional family recipe of marinara sauce. It was a small gesture of appreciation, one of many Mike had planned for her. He couldn't _wait_ for her birthday.

He peeked at the clock; it read 7:06. She usually got home around this time. That is, when her boss was generous enough not to keep her for another hour or so.

Traci reported and anchored the evening news from 4:30 to 6:30. Becoming the most popular (and youngest) local reporter after covering the story of the Foot, her news manager kept her quite busy these days. Her hours of coming home varied, depending on whether she were on location somewhere for a story, or if she were reporting from the station just two short train rides away. Mikey hoped for the latter. It was a slow news day. Nothing was really going on.

_Don't jinx anything, Mike,_ he told himself.

He hadn't done much: got out the pots, put the water on for the pasta, opened cans-- the basics. He was deliberately stalling. He wanted Traci to see that he had branded everything she'd said into his... unique mind, and impress her.

She and Mike had been crowned the official chefs of the household. Leo wasn't too bad, but he took his time, carefully trying to _perfect_ whatever he was conjuring up. By the time it was ready, it was well past normal dinner time.

Raphael simply didn't have the patience. It was bad enough to sit and wait around to eat the meal, but it was even worse to cook it. He could barely wait for bread to toast.

Donny-- well, he could make popcorn... without burning it... sometimes. But he could fix the microwave if he left anything in it for too long.

Splinter had some, but little experience in the kitchen. Having raised four sons, he had to teach himself. Still, they all agreed that they enjoyed flavorful dinners. To achieve that, they needed Traci's savvy Italian skills, or the naturally talented, self-taught Michelangelo.

A little over a week had passed since Mikey's run-in with the demonic curling iron. What resulted was a singed and blistered hand that had forced him out of commission since it occurred. Though Traci filled in for him a few nights, take-out was a great substitute. Pizza, mainly. Everyone agreed it wasn't fair that their hostess had to come home from work, make dinner for everyone, and do numerous other necessary chores.

Only Traci knew what had truly caused Mike's wound. Just another secret they shared together. In order to keep it that way, Mikey was forced to bake only moments after the injury had occurred as an alibi for his fabricated tale.

The pain was excruciating, especially when he had to stir the mix together. The wooden spoon he grasped pressed down on his swollen skin, and every time he'd beat it against the bowl, an "ow" would accompany each motion.

When the young woman returned that evening, his hand was in worse shape than when she had left him just a few hours before. She ended up using half the bottle of aloe on him. Not only that, Mike had to deal with his older siblings' jibes about his stupidity of not wearing the pink, heart-decorated oven mitts. The teasing was minimal compared to what he would have received had he explained what actually happened. But the chocolate chip cookies that came out of it... _damn_, were they good, and just what Traci needed after a hard night's work.

Jiggling of keys were heard and the door opened, revealing the condo's owner. Leo and Don perked up from the sofa, more alert.

"Hi, Trace", the two chorused, as Mike chimed in simultaneously with, "Yeah, Tabes! You're home early!"

"Hey, guys", she responded, strolling over to the island and letting her jacket fall off her shoulders. Raphael paused long enough to look up and see her beaming at him as she always did.

"Hey, Traci", he greeted softly, and forced his eyes back to his sai, determined not to get caught in her smile. She perched herself on the stool next to him, facing Mikey across the granite.

Though she had only known them for a short amount of time, she had grown used to Raph's feeble way of acknowledging her presence. Yet she still wasn't too sure as to why the usually booming turtle always toned it down when she came into view. She knew she made him uneasy, but couldn't quite pinpoint what caused it. It was getting better though. He didn't avoid her as much, and even began to joke with her a bit lately.

She didn't take it personally, thinking it to be just a part of his personality and his way of dealing with things. This was all new to him. She understood he was homesick, and staying in a place that was confining compared to what he was used to in the sewers must've drove him up a wall. Setting up camp there came with some advantages for them, but it wasn't home. She could sympathize with that; though it was a _tremendous_ upgrade and Traci adored her newly built condo, it didn't have the same feel as her apartment.

Surveying the scattered pots and un-lidded cans, she addressed Mikey, whose torso was covered by her apron (which she would have thought was strange since he didn't have any clothing to protect, but since it was _Michelangelo_, she didn't second guess it): "What's all this?"

"I'ma makin'-a family sauce-a", Mikey proclaimed in a God-awful Italian accent, while shaking his hand dramatically to emphasize each syllable.

"You're back to work, chef Mik-a-lan-gel-lo?", she asked, pronouncing his name flawlessly the way it was originally intended to be said.

"Oui."

The girl burst into giggles and swiveled off her seat, accidentally grazing her nylon-covered knee against Raph's thigh as she went. His head snapped up from his cleaning and his eyes widened, a bit startled, but thankfully (and surprisingly) it was too quick to be noticed by anyone in the room. He suppressed the chill that threatened to run through his body from the contact that lasted only a mere second, but it was enough to make him discreetly relocate a few feet to further himself from her.

"You better save some for me so I can critique it", she stated sternly.

Mike's grin sagged faster than a popped balloon. "What d'ya mean?"

She absently flipped through the mail that she had forgotten that afternoon, not noticing his disappointment. "I'm goin' to a club with a friend from work."

The remaining three all turned to where she stood, suddenly at attention. Leo lowered the volume on the tv. "Where?"

_Oh God. Here comes 21 questions._ "Some new place that opened in SoHo".

Well, there went Raph's plans for a nice evening in for a change. The one night he'd decided to lay low was the same one Traci had picked to go out. Figured.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Traci especially, Raphael had taken the liberty of being her unofficial bodyguard whenever she went out at night. Whether it was a block away or the other side of town, he'd be on her tail, following her from above the rooftops. If she were in a cab or her own car, he'd be in hot pursuit of the vehicle. If she went to a friend's place, he'd gain the power to muster up patience he didn't know he had and wait until he saw her exit the building from wherever he was. Same went for when she was at a club, which gave him even more of a risk of being seen.

He was a ninja. He'd make it work.

He never gave a thought as to why he did it. It was just something he had to do.

Screw Leo with his endless questions, Don with his concerned frowns and Mike with his half-assed, joking offers of being her escort. If they **really** cared about her as much as they _pretended_ they did, Raph would've bumped into them on top of buildings every night she went out. So far, he'd yet to see any of them.

After making sure she returned to her place safe and sound, he'd either continue on with his night by looking for some low-lives to shake down or go up to the roof of her building. Traci and the others could get suspicious and add two and two together if he were caught coming home the same time she did. His brothers just thought he was out doing whatever he did topside. Leo knew he went out, but sometimes feigned ignorance for the sake of starting a fight.

Besides, Raph was gonna do what he wanted. No amount of lecturing, yelling, pushing or blows would change his mind.

Fidgeting a bit on the pillar he was leaning against, Raph bowed his head again and focused on his weapon, which he now noted was gleaming from his polishing though he didn't stop. It served as a good front. A bemused expression was fixed on his face, but he was listening intently.

"How are you getting there?" Leo's voice again.

"I'm takin' a cab and meetin' her."

A beat.

Traci stopped filing through the envelopes upon hearing no response, catching Leonardo and Don exchanging wary glances.

"Oh c'mon, guys!", she exclaimed, flopping her arms to her sides and shifting her weight to one foot, "It's Friday night. I didn't go out at all last week. I don't give _you_ any shit when you do your little late night patrols, _**kids**_!"

She had a point; Traci was about five years their senior. It was like being interrogated by kid brothers. She knew they meant well, but at times she felt they worried a little _too_ much. What was she supposed to do? Stay holed up every night while the rest of her friends lived life?

Yeah, right. Not gonna happen.

"Ok, ok, Trace", Don finally spoke up, wanting to calm her before the Italian side of her temper flared up, "Just... be careful, that's all we're saying--"

"I've lived here my whole life. I'm alot more street smart than you think. I'm a reporter, remember? I know what goes on".

"Right, you report the news. We don't want you to _be_ the news", Leo pointed out, standing with his signature pose of his arms crossed against his plastron to emphasize how serious he was.

Sighing, she ran a hand over her scalp and trailed it through her long hair. "You want me to call you when I'm there?", she asked in a desperate attempt to get them off her back.

"That'd be nice".

"Fine", she complied, going over to the spiral staircase that lead to the second floor, "Wanna gimme a curfew, too?"

Raph bent further down towards his sai, trying to hide a snicker. Leo cast his eyes down, embarrassed and a bit stung by her sarcasm.

Traci noticed and was about to apologize, when Mike broke in: "So you're really not stayin' for dinner?"

Her face relaxed a bit as she turned to meet those big, blue eyes. "No, Mikey", she said gently, managing a soft smile for him, "But make sure your brothers don't scarf it all down so I can have some".

He looked at her, horrified. "But what if I need help?", he cried, no longer caring to impress her with his knowledge and desperate to have her stay.

"You'll be fine, Mike. It gives me something to look forward to when I get home. I gotta get ready".

And before another word could be uttered, she trotted up the stairs and into her room.

Frozen, Mike watched her go, his mouth agape and wooden spoon dangling limply from his hand. "All this for nothin' ", he mumbled glumly.

"Hey!", an insulted Donny shouted from the living room.

* * *

_I know this is kind of a boring & short chapter but I thought this was the best place to stop and set up for the next (and what I'm planning to be, last) chapter. Hopefully the next one won't disappoint but as of now, I'm a bit stuck when it comes to writing the order of which certain events take place since I'm going back & forth between Traci getting ready in her bedroom & the boys doing their own thing downstairs. It's only a minor problem but being the perfectionist that I am, it's driving me nuts & delaying me. _

_Anyway, many hugs to all who R&R. Oh, how I love you all so!_

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The four young houseguests had become uncharacteristically silent in their places. Mikey's mirth of Traci's early arrival home had transformed into gloom, yet he was determined to finish what he had started. He did so with a glower that was so foreign on his commonly animated features. Don had become immersed with some documentary on The Discovery Channel, while Leo sat opposite him on the far end of the couch, sulking. He was still reeling from Traci's bitter rhetorical question.

Why couldn't she understand that he was just looking out for her?

It wasn't so much what she'd said that had gotten to him, but the _way_ she had said it. Her acid-like tone and the deadpan expression that had been etched upon her face made him cringe as his mind played it back. It had taken him completely off-guard, leaving him not having a clue how to respond. And of course having his brothers there to witness the small berating only added to the shitpile. He'd never been on the receiving end of her anger like that before, and the fact that she didn't seem to recognize that he had good reason to worry made it worse.

The abrupt exchange was similiar (however much shorter) to the ones he had with Raph on an almost daily basis. In fact, during the short amount of time he had known her, Leo noticed that she and his surly brother shared a few traits- the stubborness, the flaring temper, the barbed remarks that always seemed to be at the ready.

Ironic, since Raphael was the one she spent the _least_ amount of time with, which seemed to be intentional on his part.

Since Traci had retreated upstairs, there was no need for false distraction any longer. Yet Raph continued to mindlessly chafe the same sai with the tattered cloth.

The teen was estimating the right time to vanish from his brothers' eyesights and climb out into the night to begin his protective stalking. Usually he'd go up to the roof and position himself above where the front door of the building was, waiting until he saw her walk out. His family knew he wasn't striding out just to get some fresh air. His brothers, particularly Leo, had stopped asking where he going, having gotten used to this popular and problematic habit of his long before they bunked at Traci's. They either received no straight answer or simply, "Out for a walk".

Fine. Good enough for them. Let him risk getting caught by Splinter on his own. Leo had made the threat of alerting their father about Raph's little 'strolls' before, only to be chided by his other siblings. It was shitty enough he had to be the level-headed, responsible one of the bunch, acting much older than his fifteen years- he had to be a tattle-tale, too? Not wanting to have yet _another _reason of feeling like the outcast of the group and giving them cause to not trust him with personal issues outside of their battles, the leader had decided to let it go.

His younger brother would get busted again sooner or later, resulting in severe punishment due to disobeying his Sensei, Leo surmised. Or rather, hoped. It was way past due to happen.

"Hey, Raph", Donny's vocal cords abruptly sounded from his place on the couch, jouncing Raphael from his musings, "That's clean enough to eat dinner with. I think it's safe to stop now".

"Whaddayuh, observin' me like one'a yer slides in yer dork-microscope?", he snarled, as if suspecting Don knew he had been creating a diversion with his polishing and was reading his mind, "I don't need yer word t'tell me t'stop".

Leo and Don caught each other's sight, both furrowing their brows to express their conflicting reactions to his spasm. The eldest rolled his eyes at the petulant pitch Raph spoke in.

"Don't get so defensive, hothead", he joined in, "He was just pointing it out since you seem to be in La-La Land".

"Sorry I've been keepin' t'myself over here instead of buggin' people for no reason like _you_", he remarked in a vexed tone.

The accused thrust his head back a bit in surprise, ridges sloping further downward at his allegation.

"What are you talking about? I haven't said a word", he defended, turning to his left in an inquisitive manner towards Donny for confirmation.

"Yeah, not since Traci shut you up", Mike glided in with a titter, skinning the tomatoes without glancing up.

They should've known the temporarily muted Michelangelo wasn't as concentrated as he appeared to be with his cooking. Leo opened his mouth to respond, but humilation got the best of him and it closed again in a scowl.

"Wish I had that ability", Raph muttered, also not bothering to shift his eyes away from his own activity he had been 'engrossed' in.

"I'm just trying to ensure her safety", he justified, becoming rattled.

"By bein' a pain in the ass? She don't need to be interrogated like that. Why doncha have Don build a room behind the mirror, put a hidden camera in here, an' we'll make it like CourtTV whenever she goes out?"

"Excuse me for expressing concern for her", he apologized cynically, "It's alot more than what you do, who can't even show a shred of amity, nor _gratitude_, towards her after all she's done for us".

This made the ninja in red glare up at him in a dark, deliberate way, finally causing him to cease what he had been doing.

_Ensure her safety_? Who the hell _ensured_ she didn't get mugged or raped whenever she stepped out of the building? Fuckin' Daddy's Boy thought he knew everything.

A familiar wave of fury washed over him, so overwhelming, he itched to lunge at his brother's smug, relaxed form. But he'd be giving too much away if he took action.

Instead, he allowed the prong and handle of his weapon to take the brunt of it by squeezing in a vise-like grip, so Traci wouldn't have to deal with blood from a beaten turtle staining the hardwood of her new condo.

But he had to retaliate somehow. About to deliver one of his biting retorts, the baby of the family interjected after actually _having_ become too immersed in his labor to hear this particular altercation.

"Hey, Raph? Couldja help me?"

Slowly, Raphael broke the vicious stare he was sharing with his older sibling and focused on the reptile nearest him behind the strip of granite.

"Not now, Mikey", he warned, nerves bundled snuggly.

Mike frowned, pooching out the lower half of his beak. "But I'm breaking the tomatoes apart", he practically sniveled, lifting his hands from the bowl to reveal a goopy mess, "I can't do two things at once... Please, Raph? _Pleeeease_?"

This was sure to continue until he surrendered to whatever Mikey wanted. His droning could reach such a pitch, cats would probably come running, mistaking it for a call.

The shrill of his hooting going through his head like a nail made Raph submit. Setting his sai down, he forced himself up and dragged over to the counter. "Aw'right, aw'right, just quit the _whinin'_. Yuh sound like a-"

His sentence halted, reminding himself of breaking the habit of referring to the female species as 'broads'. He didn't want to come off as a 'sexist prick', as he had once recalled Traci dubbing some guy who had labeled her as a 'fine-ass filly' (whatever _that_ meant).

"Just-whaddaya want me t'do?", he urged with agitation.

On cue, Mikey whipped out a knife, which was much too extravagant for the duty he was about to assign. Wrinkling his brow, Raph took a slight backstep as he eyed the enthusiastic Michelangelo grasping the razored object with a somewhat crazed grin on his face. His other hand that had been behind his back swirled out to reveal a small pair of onions cupped in it.

He held both out to him: "Chop away".

Raphael accepted the deadly appliance, involuntarily casting his gaze toward the parlor where the male relation he had just been bickering with was seated. Now _he _was the one grinning as a completely airy idea came into his head. It was flushed away when Mikey had reappeared at his side after having scampered off to the kitchen closet.

Holding a small pink fabric in Raph's direction, he beamed merrily. "Apron?"

In her bedroom, Traci scanned her closet for the black tank top splashed with specks of silver to complete her night garb. Leaving on the ebony thigh-highs she had worn to work, she pulled her leather skirt over her hips. It looked glued onto her, yet she could move freely in it.

Good. She was gonna dance her _ass _off tonight to make up for last weekend. Glee filled her as she couldn't wait to publicly premiere her outfit, which had been sitting around for almost two weeks. Too long; it was time to come out and play.

While she finished dressing, she reflected on her little snap at Leo moments ago. She felt pretty crappy about it but she hated answering to anyone. It was one of the reasons why she went to live with her father as a child. Being under someone's thumb, under any type of supervision, was never something Traci dealt with well. It reminded her of her overbearing mother. The actual thought of the woman made her head heat up, and she rapidly shook it away.

Sliding on her stilettos (her feet were going to _kill_ at the end of the night), she made the decision to apologize to Leo while phoning him upon her arrival at the club. Now, however, with the rarity of having extra time to kill, she just wanted to get some chores done before leaving so she'd have a bit less to do over the weekend.

Eyes shifting briefly to her mirror, she reckoned these threads required a full coiled mane. Trailing into her bathroom, she brushed her hair out in a few strokes before retrieving the curling iron from the drawer and popping it into the plug.

Never again would she look at that particular hair care product without thinking of Michelangelo. That little terrapin could make a memory out of anything.

Smirking as she reminisced about last week's event, she left the restroom so the instrument could heat up. She gathered up the clothes she had peeled off, including a handful that had to be left there (which she had been thinking about _all _day) because she had been running late for work, and proceeded to go downstairs to do her laundry.

Upon exiting, she cast a glimpse towards Splinter's own private room, which was expectedly sealed shut.

What the _hell_ was he always doing in there? Gotta be something more than musing over spiritual stuff. She began to think that 'meditation' and 'finding inner peace' perhaps had more than one meaning to the aged rat.

Ew.

In the kitchen, Mikey was now engaged in garlic mincing. He snuck a glance to his left where his older brother was doing his own hacking of the flavorful plant that had been given to him. "Raph, you're cutting it too thick".

"Thick, thin, what's the difference? It's all gonna end up 'n there anyways. No one's gonna be checkin' out tha size".

"Size matters, Raphie-boy."

"T'who?", he inquired without thinking, still cooling from his exchange with Leo, otherwise he would have had the right mind-set not to ask.

"To the lay-dees", Mikey drawled out with a leer, the response strangely striking true in more ways than one. Traci hated when the onions were pieced heavy enough to chew, hence why she instructed Mike to portion them in such slim layers while teaching the recipe.

Raphael huffed, pissed that he had been foolish enough to pry. "It don' help that ya gave me a massive knife to cut with, Casanova. Thing's almost as big as a katana".

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with a big-ass butcher instead of a regular one. It's more manly... Here".

The youngest motioned him aside, taking the utensil from him to demonstrate the correct way to slice, as Raph watched with crossed arms and a bored grimace. The way Mikey carried out the action was in a painfully slow motion, pressing the razor's edge carefully down in tiny strokes and gently sliding the flaps off the steel with his fingertip.

If Raph were to imitate what Mike was doing until the onion was no longer whole, he'd go nuts. And he was certain that aside from genuinely needing his assistance, that might have been Mikey's purpose of having him perform _this_ particular task.

"Whateva, Julia Child", he gruffed, shoving him out of his spot. Raph seized the blade, intent on continuing. "I don't need lessons on bladin' vegetables. 'Specially from you".

"I beg to differ, O' bro of mine".

"Yuh don' like the way I do it, don't ask for my help!"

"Hey, could you two keep it down to foghorn level?", Don sardonically piped from his comfy space in the next room, "We're trying to watch something over here".

Which really meant Donny was watching, and Leo was fighting death from boredom. Never mess with the brainiac when he's engaging in one of his rare nerd programs that he's oh-so-passionate about.

Raphael growled at him and turned back to Mikey, pointing the knife in Don's domain.

"Why don't yuh ask one'a them since yuh don't like my style'a cuttin'?", he inquired, going back to the chopping board as he aimed to take out his frustration on the defenseless onion.

" 'Cause you look so domestic and _cute_ trying to cook", he cracked, batting his would-be lashes at him.

Squaring his jaw, he gave Mike a side-eye, clenching the butt of the blade firmly. "I hava knife, Mikey", he reminded him in a low, threatening voice.

Suddenly, the smaller turtle regretted bestowing his peevish sibling with the more beefed-up shank. To prove he wanted to live, he sent him a toothy simper and plunged back into grinding the few remnants of garlic.

Satisfied, Raph carried on with his devoir, dicing in smaller brushes as Mike had coached. He didn't want to fuck up everyone else's dinner by _dividing the onions wrong_. It was an easy duty and if it were _that _important to axe the friggin' things into a precise size, then he'd do it to spare himself the embarrassment.

He didn't, however, want this to take up a substantial amount of his time, so he slit in hasty sweeps. While doing so, he silently prayed Mikey wouldn't request his help for anything else because he didn't have the kind of composure this cuisine crap required. More importantly, he had to make it up to the roof before Traci went out the door and caught a taxi.

Just then, the girl who had his thoughts tottered down the twisted staircase, ensemble and entire self complete with the exception of the straight hair that was to be curled.

This was their first time getting a preview of her dressed in 'club' attire, since she usually tended to rush out of the complex for fear of tardiness with a full-length coat draped over her. None of them had ever gotten a chance to see what she had on underneath, barely even catching the blur of her face as she whizzed out with a speedy, "Bye, guys". Not even Raphael had this privilege, as she only removed the outer layer once inside, and the exterior of the clubs usually had no windows for him to peer into without him possibly being spotted.

The brothers (with the exception of the one who tried to make a habit for his own good _not _to eye her in his family's company) all caught sight of her at the same time. Leo planned to get away with a side-glance but failed, constructing a double-take instead after getting a flash of her appearance.

_Was this how she always looked when she went out?_

The three gawked open-mouthed while the young woman, oblivious to the teens' lustful yet innocent staring, bent over to retrieve a piece of clothing that had fell.

"Jesus... ", Leo mildly (and very uncharacteristically) cursed, grazing her form up and down with his blue-lined orbs.

"Wow... ", Donny breathed out, feeling his cheeks heat up as he saw her.

"Whoa...", Mikey uttered without realizing, barely moving his mouth.

Traci stacked herself back up, now noticing three sets of eyes on her. "What?", she asked suspiciously, her own orbs scanning each of them in return, brow creasing down.

At that moment, Raphael had decided it was safe to sneak one of his casually-disguised peeks at her- stupid move. The lower half of his jaw took a straight dive down, as his sockets enlarged to their full extent beneath his crimson mask at what he saw before him.

_Sweet Mother of Christ._

Nevertheless, he absently went on with his chopping, even though an ambush from the Foot wouldn't have been able to tear his stare from her.

He wasn't _really _looking at her.

See? He was chopping- chopping away...

Totally, so _not _eye-fucking her.

Little Bro attempted to answer her query, "Just- you're-", but for once seemed speechless.

"I know my hair's a mess, but I'm gettin' to it", she assured, tucking her lengthy side-swept bangs behind an ear while wrestling the pile of garments steady so they wouldn't drop.

_Hair?! _Was she out of her gord?!

The hollow noise of a blade hitting and scraping a cutting board was making the the term, _The silence was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife, _strike true. Though it only lasted a few brief seconds when a blaring "Shit!" punctured their hushed environment, quaking the young males back to earth.

This time Leo and Don sprang all the way up from the couch, venturing over to see what had occurred.

Amid captivation, Raphael had managed to slice a coating of his skin off while fulfilling his culinary service. Traci looked up in time to witness ruby fluid beginning to stream from one of his left fingers, and instantly abandoned the clothes she was holding on the stairs behind her.

"Damn!", Raph carried on with his surprisingly limited profanity. She gradually paced over to him, knowing he'd hate if a big fuss was made over his boo boo. It was a minuscule but rooted nick, hence why blood was surging out like a broken dam.

"Not on the food!", Mike hollered frantically, attempting to swipe all the contents on the counter to his side, "Not the food!"

Leaning over the sink, Traci rolled out some paper towels as thin streaks of crimson began sapping down Raph's wrist. She took his hand in hers', gingerly wrapping the sheets around his digit as he became increasingly mortified at how idiotic he was for not being aware of his actions.

That's what he got for goggling her like a perv.

He bit his lip to obstruct more strings of obscenities from flooding out, which stemmed from annoyance at himself rather than ache. His nose suddenly caught whiff of a potent, bitter scent, causing salt water to crawl up in his eyes.

_Great._

Mikey, who was still on his right end, dipped forward to get a better view of this. "Aw, it hurts that bad, Raphie?", he asked in a naive, child-like manner, placing an empathetic hand on his shoulder.

"_It's the onions, you __**freak**__!_", he exploded in his face, knowing instantly what he was implying.

He prepared to advance, Mikey rowing back as he inched towards him, but only managed a footfall as Traci intercepted- something most others would think twice about doing, but she didn't even hesitate. To say Leo was impressed by this would be an understatement.

As the diminutive girl delicately charged between them, Michelangelo took refuge behind her dainty frame.

"All right... ", she murmured mildly at a low-key level only Raph was able to hear, bringing one of her palms up. It was enough to diffuse the scene. His portrait of a startled Mikey was replaced by a serene reporter, and there was a moment where he fixated on how near she was to him.

Holding in a pocket of air as he examined her up close, shame and awkwardness eventually got the best of him and he averted his eyes. They flitted down to his upper body where one of her tiny hands was resting to keep him from slaughtering Mike, the other still cradling his draining finger. Gulping audibly, he swerved his focus to his left below towards the granite, pursing his beak together in a direct line.

As if on cue, a _blrp blrp_ noise was heard from the stove. Keeping hold of his fingertip, Traci curved around as she withdrew her palm from Raph's chest plate, clearing some space between them. Thank God for small favors.

She strained her neck over her shoulder to where Mikey was cowering. "Water's boiling, Mike".

An apprehensive Michelangelo roamed over to put the pasta in the pot, pitching a cagey look to Raph while doing so. Raph responded with daggers. He skirted his eyes away from his brother when he felt the pressure of light dabbing on his opened skin.

Having seen the wordless exchange between the boys, the young woman forced the churning of her mouth down, however did give the turtle she was tending to a rather amused glance. He returned her look with a hint of a smirk forming at the corners' of his lips, suddenly feeling warm and weightless.

Traci went back to inspecting the damaged surface, blotting it and trying to reduce the hemorrhaging. Nurturing crippled turtle fingers was becoming a weekly custom for her. She wondered whose digit she'd minister to next.

"I'll get the bandages", she declared, giving the wounded part she was possessing a moderate pat before wandering down the short hall to the extra bathroom/laundry room.

The four teenagers watched her go, centering on her frame as she moved. For a moment, they had morphed back into lions peering intently at their prey.

An alarm rang inside Leo's head, helping him gain back his coherent state of mind. Both now standing upright, an anxious Leo mumbled something in Japanese to Donatello. Realizing he was met by silence, Leo tore his gaze away from where Traci had been and set it on the brother beside him.

The genius hadn't heard a single word, too caught up in his ogling with a weird, never-before-seen glint in his eyes- a somewhat _animalistic _glint.

Wow. He _never_ woulda guessed Don had it in him. This disturbed Leo even more. If she could get Donny of all people to leer at her in such a way, he could only imagine the predators she would attract once she left.

When she had completely disappeared out of eye range, Leo took advantage of her absence to verbalize his distress more clearly.

"Hey!", he emitted jarringly, flicking the back of his hand and landing a sufficient tap on Don's plastron to pull him out of detachment. Smarty jerked a bit at the sound of Leo's knuckles knocking into his chest and briskly faced him, failing to convince he wasn't gaping at her as if he were a fat man locked out of a pastry shop.

"She can't go out like that", he repeated with more urgency, translating to English.

Don nodded in agreement, suddenly becoming serious.

"No way. But she can totally stay in like that", Mikey approved, making Leo realize just how loud he was.

His voice reduced in resonance. "I'm serious, Mike. Talk her into changing".

He shot him a somewhat dubious look. "Why me?"

_Because I don't want her to rip my shell off._ "Because...", he started, having no clue how to finish. His younger sibling did so for him.

" 'Cause I'm her favorite, huh?" His beak broke into a gleam that overtook the rest of his face.

"Because she won't yell at you", Don busted in, "You're like a dog".

Mike paused to reflect on that for a second, then shook his head. "Whatever, dude. You guys're just mad 'cause she thinks I'm the hot one".

Leo revolved his eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation, turning to the turtle neighboring him. "Don."

"Uh uh. I am not acting as a voicebox for your implications to risk being reprimanded by her."

"Yeah", Mikey rang, "Look how scared she made _you_".

The Fearless One constricted his jaw and veered his sight to Don, then over to Raph. The latter had uncharacteristically clammed up since Traci had left, clasping his gashed skin and grinning broadly at his older sibling. He was obviously _adoring_ every minute of this.

While he actually shared Leo's wish about her changing (even if he _was_ going to be keeping an eye on her), Raph was delighted that the headman was squirming because he dreaded a scolding from the petite Traci.

Leo's eyes blazed at the chipper Raphael before promptly straying away.

"She didn't scare me, Mikey", he asserted, swallowing a dry clump in his throat before vocalizing.

"Then how come _you_ won't tell her?" It was more of a dare than a query.

All attention was on him, eagerly awaiting his response. Oh, the pressure of being Leader.

"Because she won't listen to me", was his accurate excuse, "Someone needs to tell her she can't wear that out".

"Try me, Leo", a sassy voice challenged.

* * *

I know this is a bit longer than usual but like I said, I'm obsessed with details (can ya tell?).

_Also, remember how I said in the last author's note that this was the last chapter?... Yeah, well, slight change of plans. This chapter __was__ intended to be the final one, but it was becoming extremely long so I was forced to cut it into two seperate ones. So I didn't actually lie. Or at least I didn't mean to. I apologize. But the next one __**is **__the conclusion. _


End file.
